


Have You Seen My Kitten?

by KingsAndThieves (TehLotteh)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Self-Denial, Self-Esteem Issues, Work In Progress, pre-reveal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 12:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6154357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehLotteh/pseuds/KingsAndThieves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a year since the defeat of Hawk Moth, revealed to be none other than Gabriel Agreste; a year since the last akuma fight; a year since Ladybug was <i>really</i> needed.</p><p>It's also been a year since she last saw or heard from Chat Noir.</p><p>With Adrien living away with his extended family, and her favourite cat gone without a trace, Marinette finds herself struggling to find any way to help anyone at all. She refuses to admit that perhaps this time, this is one thing Ladybug can't fix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All aboard the SS Angst!  
> I intend for this to be a multi-chapter fic (probably around 10 chapters) although most of it is still in the planning stage at the moment. Rated M because I don't know how dark it's going to get and I would rather err on the side of caution.  
> Basically self-indulgent angst galore, and if I make you cry at any point in this story, I consider it a job well done.  
> (Aka the fic I'm writing while I work out my extreme lack of foresight in GEM).
> 
> Tags will be updated as/when. As per usual, any large typos or errors, please let me know! Enjoy~

The video buffers for a moment, mouse darting to the bottom right to make it fullscreen, hiding away folders of documents and a desktop of neatly organised icons. For a few seconds the screen is black save for a slowly rotating symbol in the middle as it loads, and then it plays automatically, the face of a redheaded girl taking up the screen as she speaks, confident as always as she talks to her viewers.

Alya Césaire, famous online for running the dedicated _Ladyblog_ , never missed a scoop. She smiled to the camera, panning it out to show the area behind her. He recognised it as the park in Paris that held a statue dedicated to the city heroes, a crowd gathered behind her and stood around the statue, talking and muttering amongst themselves. It looked to be a cold day, although with it being in the midst of autumn, it seemed only natural for everyone to be wrapped up in coats and scarves, some children sporting Ladybug and Chat Noir themed hats that barely covered ears reddening from the chill.

“One year ago today, our beloved heroes brought an end to the erratic and horrifying attacks that plagued our city. Many of us experienced this pain first-hand – many of us were corrupted and turned on our love ones, and we owe our heroes more thanks than we can ever give.”

The video changed to show extracts from news broadcasts, a clip here of an akuma destroying a building before switching to a recording of the two superheroes diving in, sweeping a child out of harm's way or preventing mass casualties, often at the risk of their own safety. The clips continued to change as Alya spoke once more, showing the traditional fist bump at the end of each battle, the two in perfect sync and their confidence and relief only growing with each and every battle.

“I'm sure almost all of you will remember the media uproar as one year ago today, the self-proclaimed _Hawk Moth_ was unmasked before us all during a catastrophic showdown outside the Louvre which resulted in two civilian deaths and a large number of injured. _Hawk Moth_ , now known to be none other than famed fashion designer Gabriel Agreste, was sadly killed during the conflict where an unlucky collision brought him into contact with Cataclysm, Chat Noir's superpower, resulting in immediate death.”

The video switched focus to play some footage of the combat, showing the two heroes at a painful disadvantage, beaten and bruised and looking on the brink of defeat while a masked man dressed all in purple waved his cane and called waves upon waves of corrupted butterflies down to push them apart, forcing them to concentrate more on staying upright than anything else. Fortunately, it showed nothing of the end of the conflict, wishing to keep such distressing scenes away from the majority of the public. Some amateur videos had it uploaded around on the internet, not too hard to find if someone really wanted to witness the destructive capabilities of the black Miraculous when used on a living soul.

“Since that day, nothing of the _super_ kind of villainy has touched our streets. Still, our heroes have not just disappeared for good; Ladybug can be seen in all walks of life, apprehending petty criminals and upholding peace within the city. The same, however, cannot be said for Chat Noir.”

Switching back to her in the park, she zoomed the video in to the statue, specifically focusing on the masked face of their male hero.

“After the battle ended he fled, not even pausing long enough to talk to Ladybug. Naturally, it was assumed that he was feeling guilty and traumatised by the accidental death he had caused, and everyone was only too willing to give him space to come to terms with it. It was only a week later, however, when I was approached by Ladybug, asking if any sightings of him had been reported. After a month, the request went viral, people everywhere keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of our favourite cat. To this day, no genuine reports have been filed.”

She paused and turned at a commotion behind her, the camera flicking up to track a flick of red swinging over the streets, coming to land beside the statue. True to her journalist nature Alya started to barge her way over to the front, the camera being held surprisingly steady as she turned it back to face herself, looking to it as she addressed her audience.

“This day has been announced a national holiday, celebrating a complete year in peace, but it is also one of mourning, allowing us to remember those we lost in the struggles, or those injured, or truths revealed that can never be forgotten.”

She managed to get to the front as the newly arrived Ladybug made a speech to the cameras present, thanking everyone for all their efforts during the fights against the akuma, for being there for each other and supportive of those who had had hard times. She expressed how important it was for people, as an entirety, to learn from their past mistakes and make sure never to hurt each other to such an extreme again, and she reminded them that she and Chat Noir were just normal civilians beneath the suits, just everyday people who had stood up to fight for the right thing.

She turned to look at Alya's camera head on after a short pause, taking a deep breath and blinking what looked suspiciously like tears from her eyes.

“Which brings me to my next point.. Chat. Mon minou. If you're out there, if you see this.. Please. Please, just give me a sign, something, anything to let me know you're all right, that you're.. A-alive. Contact me through the _Ladyblog_ , or find me on patrol. I haven't changed the routine since we last did it together, Chaton.”

Ladybug clasped her hands together and placed them over the lower half of her face, finally losing the battle to keep her eyes dry as they slowly started to water, her shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly. The confidence in her posture was gone as she bared her soul to the cameras in the desperate hope that her partner was watching, wherever he may be.

“If you don't want to go through a third party, I'm at our spot on the Eiffel Tower, every night between ten and midnight. Without fail. Leave me a message up there, l-like those.. Those stickers you gave me..”

Her resolve failed her and she let out a raw sob, taking a long moment to compose herself, and it was possible to see other people silently wiping their eyes in the background.

“I need you, Chat. I need you more than I've ever needed you before, and I want to be there for you in turn. Please, just come home to me.”

It seemed like some people had more questions for her but she excused herself and threw her yo-yo, whisking herself away from the attention of the public eye, and Alya was soon walking away from the crowd, reaching a fist up to roughly dash away her own tears at such a heartfelt moment.

“This has been a brief report from the _Ladyblog_ , for all your superhero needs. There are several candlelit vigils being held around the city tonight in mourning and respect, with charity collections on sight. All proceeds will be split equally between the Charity for-”

Plagg jumped in alarm as the laptop lid was shut with a firm hand, twisting from where he sat on the desk to see Adrien pick it up and stuff it into his rucksack, sliding a couple of notebooks in to it as well. A bowl of untouched pasta sat on the edge of the surface, one more lunch that had been left to waste, and not even Plagg had had the heart to eat in for him, despite the cheesy topping.

He floated up into the air and made to slip in to the bag, although it was zipped tight before he could slide his way in. He went to his reserve position within Adrien's jacket, only for it to be shut tight away from him once more, blocking his passage to the open inner pocket. The outer pockets were firmly shut and buttoned down as well, and the kwami soon found himself hovering awkwardly, watching as his chosen slipped his shoes on and shouldered his bag, making his way to the door to return to his school for the afternoon lectures.

“Have a good day, Adrien,” he spoke with a surprisingly soft tone, whiskers drooping.

He said the same thing every morning and every lunchtime.

Every time he anticipated the jovial eye roll, the “you don't mean that” or “it's history class, it can never be a good day”.

And every single time he was completely blanked, watching the door shut in silence, feeling as though he were invisible. Adrien's eyes never found him any more, never smiled. He could headbutt him, cause a mess, or a nuisance, and never get a reaction any more.

Physically he may not have lost his kitten, not in this instance, but he'd never felt more alone in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love bright boxes of stuff?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely (tear filled) responses <3 call me Chloé because each time one of you cries I get a sick rush of glee (and if you're not crying enough, well, I consider it my personal mission to change that). Not much angst in this chapter, but we need to find a good balance somewhere in here, no?
> 
> (Also, yes, glue will be provided at the end for you to repair any broken hearts!)

The numbers on the board all seemed to blur in her mind as Marinette absently doodled notes, not really understanding what strange aspect of algebra was being explained that day, and also not having the will to even care. Autumn had hit them full force and the rain-streaked windows were doing nothing to help her dreary mood. She paused in her writing and raised her pen to her lips, chewing on the end as she cast a surreptitious glance at Alya. Sure enough the girl was browsing through her phone under her desk, Marinette only able to catch glimpses of images attached to comments, but she would bet her lunch-break on it being something to do with the _Ladyblog_. Even though the akuma attacks had stopped, her best friend still idolised her, although she was grateful. It did mean there was a medium through which people could get in contact with her, keeping tabs on it for any comments requiring assistance.

On the desk in front of them, Nino didn't seem to be doing much better. Although his large headphones were silent, she could just see where he had looped an in ear bud through the sleeve of his jacket, leaning his head against the palm of his hand in an attempt to keep it hidden from their teacher while he paid attention to everything but her. His notebook had scribbling on it that didn't look remotely like numbers, and she had a feeling he had his book open on their history notes as a decoy.

The seat in front of her, her usual reason for her inability to concentrate, was still empty. No new students had joined their class, and none of the existing ones had dared try and take the seat. Whether it was because they were too comfortable with their usual places, or simply out of respect for their classmate, or even some superstition about the seat being cursed, she didn't know. She was just pleased that it remained empty, although she would happier if its previous occupant returned.

Not that that was going to happen.

He had come into school only once, the day after the tragic incident, to explain in a monotonous demeanour that, as he had no legal guardians remaining in Paris, he was being sent to live with his next of kin. He'd never met his father's sister, he told them, but he was just grateful that she was willing to take him in.

Nino had been devastated. He'd struggled with making friends before meeting Adrien, and he was in no way ready to lose his best friend. Upon receiving the news he had stood up and walked out, needing some air, and Marinette just watched Adrien take his seat and face the front.

He had been so emotionless, his face a steady expression that never faltered. She noticed powder clinging to his face and she suspected he was wearing make-up, but all it did was give her a creepy reminder of a porcelain doll. Although she was fond of dolls in most cases, that particular instance had only given her the chills.

Still, she had something to look forward to that afternoon, and she was still inwardly pleased with the plan. She had suggested to Alya and Nino that they make a little care package to send to Adrien, just to remind him that they were thinking of him. She'd messaged him once or twice and only received brief, one word responses, and she had a feeling that Nino wasn't getting much better. It must be so scary for him living with people he didn't know in an unfamiliar city after all he'd gone through, but she didn't want him to return to his home-schooled days where he had barely spoken to anyone. She'd heard him tell Nino that the loneliness was the hardest part of it all, and although it was entirely possible that he was busy with new friends, she couldn't see him brushing Nino off like that for no reason.

He and Alya had gone shopping the day before to pick some things up that they thought Adrien would appreciate, and Marinette had busied herself in the bakery to make some sweet treats for him, hoping he wasn't on as strict a diet as he used to be. She hadn't seen him in any modelling campaigns, at least, so she wasn't sure if he was even still following that line of work or not. She hoped that he was getting enough time to pursue his own interests without the pressure, this time. It would be nice for him to get to go to some concerts or parties.

Then again, Josephine Agreste could be just as harsh as her brother when it came to public image, but she doubted that that was the case.

When class finally ended she stifled a relieved groan, seeing her two friends pack their things away in their bags before turning to her. They were all to head straight to hers after school to assemble their care package and make sure everything was perfect, and then Alya would post it on her way back to her house afterwards.

“You got everything with you?” she asked, smiling at Alya's enthusiastic thumbs up. Her best friend knew she was still crushing on Adrien despite not having seen him in a year, and was more than a little encouraging about how kind Marinette was being with it all. It wasn't just some physical crush, Alya knew now – the fact that even now the shy designer was trying to find ways to help the model smile just warmed her heart.

Nino patted his bag with a knowing smile, laughing slightly as Alya wrapped an arm around both their shoulders to walk them out of school.

“I swear I thought that class was never going to end,” she moaned, earning non-committal sounds of agreement from her two friends. “Mari, please tell me your parents have cakes that didn't sell that need eating. I'd like to have a go at working on my own _pie chart_.”

Marinette's smile was pained, but she wouldn't show it to her friend. A pun like that just reminded her of the other green-eyed soul currently missing from her life, and unlike Adrien, she didn't even know where he was any more. As cruel as she felt, she forced herself to push Chat to the back of her mind, to deal with when she wasn't with two people that would certainly notice her mood and comment on it, especially considering one of them would not stop prodding and poking until she got to the bottom of it.

Somehow she got the feeling that _the guy I run around in skin-tight costumes with is still missing and I feel really guilty because I helped kill Adrien's father_ just wouldn't go across all that well.

It only took them a short handful of minutes to arrive at the bakery, Marinette's parents quickly ushering them to head up to her room (while dropping a bag of cakes and brownies into Alya's waiting hands), and in no time at all the three teenagers were plopped on the floor of Marinette's attic haven, watching in excitement as she showed them the box she had. Coloured card, glitter pens, an assortment of ribbons and Sharpies and a tub of “stuff” where she kept everything and anything that she found that she thought she might have a use for.

“Dude!” Nino cried out happily, fist pumping the air. “He's going to fucking love this! You've even got bubble wrap – that kid loves bubble wrap!”

“He does?” she found herself asking, not having known this about Adrien (and when there were things she didn't know about Adrien, few and far between as they were, she latched on to them like the priceless tidbits they were).

Her friend nodded as he unzipped his bag, pulling out a plastic carrier that no doubt contained his gift for his best friend. “I've never seen someone so entranced by popping them before – like, I don't know about you, dude, but most people I know just pop them without much thought. Adrien, though, he does this thing where he puts it on a flat surface and stares at it – and I mean really stares – before pressing them individually with his first finger, like he's testing where the air pushes around to and to check for holes. That guy digs bubble wrap like Chloé digs expenses.”

She filed this information away for later, taking some of the aforementioned article to cocoon her packet of freshly baked macarons as best she could, and soon covered that up with the new scarf that she had made for him. She remembered how much he had liked her last scarf, even if he believed it had been a gift from his father, so she decided to make him another. This one was made in a shimmering green fabric that seemed to hold a gold tint to it in certain lights, and although it had been one of the more expensive materials she had bought she'd been unable to stop herself from picking it up. It caught her eyes, and she'd known just what to do with it.

Her friends were full of praise for her work once more (and as Alya reminded her, this time he would know that it was from her), and were soon adding their owns gifts to the pile. Alya had picked him up Jagged Stone's latest CD, and Nino had complimented that with a piano book of Jagged's Greatist Hits.

As he had pointed out, Adrien knew how to play the piano extremely well, but didn't always get to choose what he played, and if his aunt was half as rich as the rest of his family they would have access to a piano for him.

It only took a small amount of fiddling for them to be able to arrange everything into a coherent order, leaving enough space for a little bubble wrap for protection, and then space on top for them to place their individual letters for him. Marinette cursed quietly when she realised that her own envelope wasn't staying shut, and made her way over to her desk to see if she had some easy to access sellotape or some glue.

A shiny surface caught her eye and she frowned as she pulled a packet of stickers out from behind her desk tidy. She could feel a weak smile on her face, but the memory stabbed her in the heart with more force than she would care to admit.

Deciding that Adrien could definitely do with a little more luck in his life, she delicately peeled the largest of the ladybug stickers and used it to seal the envelope shut once more, running her thumb against it to help it lie as smooth as possible. Tucking the stickers back out of the way, this time on the inside of her desk tidy, she returned to sit with the others on the floor and placed her letter with the others, and together they made short work of sealing the lid down tight and quickly got to covering it in bright and garishly coloured card, attacking it at all angles with the pens and adding copious amounts of glitter.

Despite Nino's comment on it looking more sparkly than a fairy's vomit (before proceeding to add more, to both of the girls' amusement), they were all rightfully satisfied with the outcome. There was no way that anyone could look at something so gaudy and so personalised without feeling even a little bit loved.

Wrapping it up in the standard brown packaging paper felt a little like closing the cookie jar when you'd just tasted the most divine chocolate chipped treat in the world, but they knew that it was essential to protect their drawings and inside jokes that peppered the outside of the box. It was decided that Marinette write the address, considering that she had the neatest handwriting out of the three of them, and soon enough they were sliding it into a large carrier bag for Alya to take with her.

“He's going to love this,” the redhead said, smiling softly as she placed her hand on Marinette's knee. The girl jolted, not realising the more sombre mood that had befallen her, and offered her a slightly embarrassed nod in response.

“I sure hope he will. Do you think he might be able to come visit Paris for Christmas for a little?”

“Not likely,” Nino interrupted, the two glancing to him with a melange of expressions. He merely grinned, tapping the side of his nose then. “Think of it like this. The dude's got nothing but bad memories in Paris – hopefully he's making better ones now. Who has he got back here that he misses? Us three. Also, you're forgetting he's currently living in Strasbourg – aka the self-proclaimed capital of Christmas.”

“So what you're suggesting,” Alya started, voice slow as she started to catch on, smiling slightly as she saw her boyfriend's expression match hers.

“We could go and visit him then, if not before. It's only an hour and a half away, ya? Make a day trip out of it, or a weekend. That way if he's embarrassed about us coming all the way out to see him, we could say we went for the markets instead.”

Marinette had to admit that Nino's words made sense. Adrien's new home really wasn't all that far away from Paris for them, but he'd never responded well to any suggestions that they meet up. Nino had said that he'd been really evasive whenever he'd inquired about potential visits, so he hadn't wanted to push it on him. Even if Adrien didn't feel up to seeing them, a weekend away would be quite nice as a reward for surviving another school term, and she was sure that her parents would be just fine with it.

She opened her mouth to add her approval of this plan but was interrupted by a beep from Alya's phone, the girl quickly pulling it out and flashing a glance over it.

“Ugh, sorry girl, I've got to skedaddle. Mum wants my help down at the restaurant, but I've got time to go and post this on the way. You don't mind me not staying to help tidy up do you?”

“No no, not at all!” Marinette grinned, moving to usher Nino out as well then. She knew they had been planning on walking to the post office together, and there was no way she was going to get between their quality time just to have some help picking up scrap pieces of card. Besides, the sooner she was alone, the sooner she could get out and attend to her other matter of business.

“You sure, Marinette? I don't mind staying and helping,” Nino added, but the designer just shook her head, shooing them more forcefully.

“Nope! Kicking you out my room now, go on! Go get that to the post office before it shuts!”

He just grinned and thanked her for helping with the parcel, and after a short farewell and promises to see each other at school the following day, she closed her trapdoor with a relieved sigh and saw Tikki whiz out of her hiding spot and come and float before her.

The kwami's eyes were wide with pride, probably having been watching the whole crafting process, and dove in to nuzzle against Marinette's cheek. “Oh, Marinette, that looked amazing! I just know he's going to love it!”

“Thanks, Tikki,” she smiled, starting to gather up her scrap materials and bin whatever couldn't be salvaged. She liked to scrimp and save where she could, but there was a thin line between being thrifty and just downright hoarding. Placing her box back in its usual place on her shelf she turned to her diary box, unlocking it and pulling out another envelope before closing it once more, and turned to the little god with a bright smile. “You ready to go do our rounds and deliver this?”

Tikki beamed and nodded enthusiastically, flitting around the air in anticipation. One “spots on” and a half minute later, and Ladybug was soaring over the streets outside, making her way to the Eiffel Tower with single-minded determination, a thin envelope clutched firmly in her left hand and sealed with a second, slightly smaller ladybug sticker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the weak feeling to this chapter =/ it was sort of filler, and it needed doing, but I don't feel overly happy with it. Either way, angst shall be resumed next chapter with a return to Adrien! (And if I get a flash of inspiration I'll come back to revise this one)
> 
> If you've read GEM you may have realised I have a thing for the Alsace region of France - reason being I just finished a 6 month university exchange in the region's capital, Strasbourg and it's a place I'd feel comfortable about writing (and the Xmas markets there really are amazing <3) so since at least part of the story would be taking place in a different city it seemed like an adequate choice.
> 
> Also: care packages. That is all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all I am so so sorry for how long this took me to update - it's shameful. I'm one of those people that needs at least three projects on the go so when one has me interested, the others take a ride on the backburner. Hopefully I won't leave it so long next time, but no promises.
> 
> Secondly, get your angst hats on, this chapter is longer than the others and it's 150% Adrien-centric.
> 
> (And thirdly I've not really proof-read it but I gotta go to bed so let me know if there's anything horrifically wrong and I'll fix it!)

The end of the school day greeted him, as per usual, with a cacophony of laughing children. The younger kids ran out the gates like their heels were on fire, all too eager to spend their afternoon and evening in blissful ignorance with their controllers in their hands and their eyes glued to a screen (for the most part), while the slightly older teens were making plans to study together or go shopping, or watch a film or grab a meal.

In some cases they were gathering their things to go to extra lessons, be it music or languages or sports, and there was a time that his every afternoon was spent the same way. It still felt.. More than a little odd, if he were being honest with himself, to have time to himself. If anything he had too much of it, no piano lessons, no fencing.

_No photo shoots_.

He wiped his suddenly clammy palms against his thighs while exhaling slowly, and soon reached up to hook a hand around his shoulder strap and grip to it tightly. He should have a response from his latest modelling inquiry, a nice photographer in the area who had worked with he and his father once or twice before, and he was desperately hoping that it would be a positive reply.

He'd had four rejections so far, despite his applications stating that he would be more than willing to commute to Paris for them, and he was definitely feeling the weight of disappointment on his shoulders. Not even the weight of his surname seemed to be having its usual effect but, with hindsight, it was now tarnished with his father's acts of terrorism and goals of world domination.

It wasn't like he was going to follow in his father's footsteps, and even if he were modelling was hardly the way forward.

Still, what he wouldn't give for something to fill up his time with. It seemed like another age when he used to be swept off his feet until the evening before spending even more hours soaring over the Parisian rooftops.

“Yes, well, that doesn't matter any more, does it?” he muttered lowly under his breath, stuffing his fists deep inside his coat pockets and letting out a huff of air that condensed into a little mist in front of his face. Autumn really was in full swing and winter would be upon them soon enough, and the dark and dying colours reflected his perpetually sombre mood uncannily well. Chat Noir had always loved autumn, the sound of crisp leaves as he bounded threw them and sent them flying, the way the falling leaves matched the colour of her suit and brought out the hue of her eyes.

Adrien found he didn't much care for them. The colder months in Strasbourg were almost bitter, far colder than they were in the capital, leaving his skin raw and his lips cracked. He'd been mocked on more than one occasion for his inability to deal with the cold because he was a “high-rise city boy”, which didn't help him much either. His aunt had had to buy him a second quilt for his bed, the central heating just not enough for him to keep warm.

His hand instinctively closed around his phone as it buzzed, and bracing himself for the weather nipping at his gloveless fingertips he pulled it out, thumb swiping across it to unlock it and read the message.

Nino: hey dude wanna skype l8r

He felt the very edge of his lip quirk in a smile at the knowledge that his friend still cared, but it was quickly smothered by the rising anxiety in his gut, balling itself into a tangled knot and gripping at him.

Nino was too good a friend for someone like him. He'd offered the guy no explanation, no response, anything. In his first month after moving cities he'd tried to respond, to text him back, ring him, anything, but the second his finger went anywhere near the send button or the call button he found himself freaking out.

He knew there would be questions. About how his new life was, how his aunt was treating him, whether he'd made any new friends there. Was the accent hard to understand? Were the teachers nice?

Perhaps, though, he dreaded one more question more than anything else: _are you okay?_

He knew it would come. It was just how Nino was. He might not even follow up with it, Adrien could brush it off with a “yeah, I'm fine”, just as he had every day sitting next to him at school, and Nino wouldn't push.

But he wasn't fine. He knew he wasn't fine. He knew there wasn't a problem about not being fine.

There was a problem with him admitting that he wasn't fine.

He knew the second he did the floodgates would open, and then Nino would worry about not knowing what to do, and then he would ask Alya, and Alya would ask Marinette, and he wasn't prepared for that. They all had their own lives, their own worries and problems, and he was not in a position to put that on them in the slightest. He couldn't bear the guilt of making them worry, making them go out of their way for him.

It was why, in the end, he'd decided it was better just to let Nino think he was too busy, or that he'd moved on.

It was why he locked his phone without replying and shoved it back in his pocket once more.

The walk back was fairly uneventful, aside from an excess of traffic and his usual crossing being out of action, but eventually the tasteful iron gates of his current home were in sight. He pushed the gate open and slipped in, fastening the latch behind him before making the short trip up the path and through the garden to the large front door.

Josephine Agreste's house may not have been quite as full of splendour as his old mansion, but it was still a thing of old beauty. Where his father had put everything minimalist and modern into his house, with marble pillars and an overrunning theme of black and white, his aunt's place reminded him a lot of the old aristocracy. The garden was full of meticulously tended potted plants and flower boxes on windows, some ivy creeping up the wall beside the front door and curling its stems possessively around the frame. The door itself was wooden with a brass knocker, the letter box a deep forest green on the wall to the right.

Inside it followed the same style, with dark wooden flooring and rich coloured rugs, some old family paintings hanging from the walls. She'd had the one from his old dining room, the one of he and his parents done shortly after his ninth birthday, and she'd had it hung on the left side of the hallway opposite a similar one of she and her brother with their parents when the two were in their early teens.

It was still a little surreal to see his father so young, but it had been easier to see what little genetics they shared. Adrien knew he was the spitting image of his mother, and if he pulled his hair up and imagined it in a bun at the back of his head he could almost see himself as her without her make-up on.

Still, it seemed that his father had also been a baby-faced blond in his youth, the rugged and harsh facial features only seeming to appear in his late teens if the family photo album was anything to go by.

Two years his younger, Josephine had always been blessed with a sharp and defined profile, and save for a few ageing wrinkles Adrien was pretty adamant that she looked identical to the painting in the hallway. Hearing him return home she stepped in to greet him, wearing a black trouser suit with a rose coloured blouse and a set of spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose, and for a second his heart leapt in his throat because he could have sworn she was Nathalie for just the briefest moment.

She stepped over to him and pulled him to her, kissing his cheeks with a soft smile.

“How was your day at school?” she asked him, though with her Strasbourgeois accent all her consonants came out a little harsher than he was used to. He put on his best model smile for her, returning the greeting and looking up to her – well, level really, since he seemed to have just finished a second growth spurt – as he nodded.

“It was pretty good, thanks. I have a fair amount of reading to do, so I'm going to crack on with that for the evening.”

“Do you want me to send your food up to you if you're working?”

“Please!” He hated doing this to her, but he just couldn't force himself to eat around her. She'd only pester him until he did, and if he was feeling ill when he ate he knew it would just come straight back up the second he was alone.

Dinner times also meant awkward table conversation, and he didn't feel like that very much either. Parting from her he slipped his shoes off and placed them on the rack next to the door, making his way to the large wooden staircase that curved round the room in an elegant spiral, the glass chandelier above sending little flecks of light dancing over the hardwood bannister. She called out to him as he neared the top, pausing as he leaned his head round to glance down to her as she stepped back into the hall, seeming to have forgotten something.

“There's a parcel that was delivered for you earlier – I left it on your desk.”

“Thanks, Aunt Josie. Do you know who sent it?”

“I'm afraid not, dear. I don't recognise the handwriting, and I didn't see a return adress on the back.”

He thanked her again and made his way to his room, letting out a large sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him. His room here was a significant downgrade from his one back in Paris, but it felt nicer, if a little bare. Like the rest of the house it was done in a refined style, although he still had a plush double bed to sleep on. It seemed that his aunt's maid had made his bed while he was at his afternoon lectures, since it was now sporting a wine red cover instead of the navy of the morning, even if there was a dog curled up on it at the time.

Affectionately known as “Blacky”, the dark-furred Alsatian spent most of her time curled up on whatever soft surface she could find, be it the sofas in the lounge or on either of their beds. It had taken him some time to get used to sharing a house with a dog, having never had a pet before, but at least she wasn't a cat with the habit of gifting him dead birds. He wasn't sure he could have bared to deal with that, his allergy considered.

Still, she would often take “wild” moments when around him, suddenly growling at the air with her hackles raised, or chasing something he couldn't see. She was elderly and probably just took a turn every now and then, so after a while he'd given up trying to understand her.

Dropping his bag at the food of his bed he pulled his laptop out of it, slipping in to the swivel chair at his desk and turning it on, glancing to his right while he waited for it to boot up. There, sure enough, was the package that his aunt had mentioned. It wasn't small but it wasn't huge either, and he was certainly a little intrigued about who might have sent it, or what it even contained. Perhaps someone had finally cleared out his school locker and he might have accidentally left something behind in it – that was the most likely course of action.

Shaking his head slightly he turned back to his laptop, clicking impatiently on his inbox the second it was loaded, and he felt his heart start to beat madly when he saw the reply from just the person he wanted.

The person, but not necessarily the reply.

He hadn't been aware that he made a sound until he heard Blacky jump in alarm off his bed, whining at him in confusion. He felt numb and nauseous at the same time, finding the email harder to read as his vision grew blurry with each phrase.

_Thank you for your application_.

It had been polite, at least, he couldn't fault Émile there.

_Your father was a trusted partner of mine-_

He'd been a trusted father too, before the whole manipulating innocent citizens for nefarious reasons shenanigans. He still needed to sit down and have an honest conversation with himself about how he felt about all of that, but he wasn't sure he was ready for that yet. Whenever he probed too deeply it still hurt more than he cared to admit, and he wasn't about to go salting still fresh wounds. He'd knock that mental wall down one day when he felt confident enough about compartmentalising his thoughts.

_-_ _and I'm sorry for your loss. Although it would be an honour to work with you-_

And there came the coup de grâce.

_-your current appearance doesn't fit with the type of image I'm currently searching to portray. If you manage to put some more weight back on-_

He didn't bother reading on any more. It didn't matter, the point had been made.

The same reasons were thrown at him, every single time.

Too thin.

Too pale.

Too sickly.

He leaned back in his chair and ran his hand roughly through his hair, knotting fingers in the strands as he forced himself to take a steadying breath. All he'd ever had to offer anyone was his looks, and it seemed even they were lost to him.

He found his gaze drawn of its own accord to the mirror hanging on the far wall, positioned so he could just see himself from where his chair sat. A haunted gaze met him solidly, staring at him with a truly expressionless appearance.

Gone was the golden child that everyone clamoured to employ, the teenage supermodel with a smile that lit up a room as if he were his own ray of sunshine, blessed with eyes that harboured a myriad of emotions that he could summon up on command. All that he saw in that mirror was an empty vessel, something cast aside yet again by people who had moved on. Agreste was the brand of choice the previous year, but happy was the new black.

Chewing on his lip he stood, moving over towards the full length mirror with hesitant steps. He reached up and lightly touched his fingers to his cheek, frowning slightly as he traced the underlying bone that sat now in clear definition, noticing for the first time the absence of his rounded cheeks. Once bright eyes now sat dully in sunken sockets, the skin dark and bruised and contrasting sharply with the porcelain quality of the rest of his complexion. His skin remained infuriatingly clear, not a blemish or a pockmark to reflect the inner struggle he felt.

Where he once saw his mother's delicate and comforting visage, all that greeted him in the mirror now was his father's sharp, angular and cold face. Adrien reached up and pushed his hair back, back out from his face, slicked back with the lingering hair products from that morning, and noted how it only served to elongate his face, making him seem more gaunt.

Following that train of thought he frowned, reaching down and pulling the bottom of his shirt up, trailing his finger along to explore skin that he'd not paid attention to recently. He could see the harsh relief of his hip bones poking over the top of his jeans, the definition lines on his stomach more from lack of fat than any real physical quality any more. He could see the dip under his rib cage, and as he pushed a little harder under it experimentally he found he could run his fingertip around the underside of the rim of bone.

The realisation made him feel sick.

Anorexia was a prominent matter in the modelling business and something he had always aggressively opposed the idea of, especially after seeing what it had done to both the mental and physical health of his female counterparts, but he was only now seeing the havoc that it was wreaking on his own body.

He was a hypocrite. How often had he complained to, well, himself, about how little he was allowed to eat under his father's regime? Yet here he was, free, living with someone who was willing to feed him all he wanted, and he refused to seize the opportunity.

His eyes trailed of their own accord to the plate of untouched pasta left there from his lunch break some hours ago that the maid mustn't have cleared up, but just the sight of it made his stomach knot unpleasantly.

His father had wanted him to be perfect. His father had caused mass panic, hysteria and distress. He felt torn between the desire to fulfil that quota for the living Adonis, and being the furthest thing from it possible.

Something black flitted in the corner of his eye, just visible floating above his shoulder in the mirror, although when he turned to look at it properly it was gone. He dropped his shirt back down and rubbed his hand against his mouth, trying to work out what side of panic his thoughts were heading to.

He should eat. He knew he should. He wouldn't get a modelling job until he put more weight on. As it was he wasn't a healthy image to project to the youth, he knew that.

Modelling was what he'd always done. It was the one part of his old life he could cling to. Everything else was new, everything was strange. He had the change to forge his own path and he was too scared to.

Modelling was how he made his father happy. He still wanted to please him, in a way. He wanted to see that slight smile, hear his praise when a photo came out particularly well.

It was the only legacy he could give to his father, in the end.

Deciding that today was definitely an unproductive and morose evening he closed his laptop shut with a dejected sigh and clambered into his bed, not even bothering to change out of his day clothes as he buried his head under a pillow and clasped down on it either side of his face, wanting to block out all the light and sounds of the day.

He'd do his homework the day after. He'd read those books the day after, and he'd open that box the day after.

For now, all he wanted to do was sleep. Hopefully the next day would be less disappointing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As weird as it sounds, Strasbourgeois is the actual adjective for something/someone coming from Strasbourg. I like the subtle double meaning with bourgeois hidden inside it, but eh, it works!
> 
> Also, from my experience of most places I've been in France, people don't like Parisians. The people in the Alsace region especially are very proud of their durable nature, and from what I saw they didn't particularly like being lumped in with the rest of France.
> 
> Next time: Adrien please open the bloody box.


End file.
